


The Bench

by AZ-5 (elim_garak)



Category: Homeland
Genre: About the canon, Angst, Because fuck canon, But who cares anymore, Canon Compliant, Father-Son Relationship, Fictober 2019, Multi, NOT Quinn and Johnny, Not Beta Read, Random Encounters, We die like comrades, prompt: can you stay, that never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 19:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/pseuds/AZ-5
Summary: Written for Fictober 2019. Just because. Prompt: Can  you stay? Originally posted on Tumblr. Posting here because... what the hell.“Which kid is yours?”He swallows around the sandpaper wedged in his throat. “I don’t… I’m not here to… I don’t have a kid.”So that’s what it feels like. To be gutted alive.He’s pulled into the sea of glacier-blue incredulity. “How come?”Because I didn’t stay.





	The Bench

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NikitaSunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikitaSunshine/gifts), [hidingupatreeorsomething](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidingupatreeorsomething/gifts), [Murmures1234](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murmures1234/gifts), [Or anyone else still around](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Or+anyone+else+still+around).

“Can you stay?”

_Yes._

_Yes, I can._

_I want to. _

_I *wanted* to. I swear. _

_Ever since I first laid eyes on you. Held you. Felt you. Breathed you._

_Every since I walked out on you._

_I wanted to. _

_Every fucking day I wanted to._

_And I didn’t._

“Can you?”

The salty lump in his throat slinks down. “Yes.” He looks around, suddenly self-conscious. And he inches closer. “Sure.”

Two little feet swing excitedly, never touching the ground. “Ok.”

He wiggles closer still. “Ok.”

For a while their world is that of the sun spilling gallons of maple over the playground. 

Of the leaves rustling, and swings squealing. And chatter. And laughter. 

And hope. 

“Which kid is yours?”

He swallows around the sandpaper wedged in his throat. “I don’t… I’m not here to… I don’t have a kid.”

So that’s what it feels like. To be gutted alive. 

He’s pulled into the sea of glacier-blue incredulity. “How come?”

_Because I didn’t stay._

“I… My work. It’s… I’m away a lot. Overseas. So… I wouldn’t be around. You know… had I…” _Jesus-fucking-Christ._

“Can’t you get a different job?”

_Fuck me._

“I… Well, yes. Maybe. But… You see, my job, what I _do,_ there isn’t… I don’t really know how to do anything else. Never have.”

A shrug. “You could go to school. Learn to do something else.”

_Out of the mouths of babes._ “I guess.”

“My mom did. She was working patrol. Then she had me. And she went to school because she wanted a job with a…” Scratching the tip of his nose, “…table?”

Breathing the happiest laugh he’s had in years: “A desk job?”

“Yes! She’s a detective now.” So proud. And also _‘I know.’_

“Your mom… Sounds like a special lady.”

“Yeah. She’s pretty cool.” And then: “This is her bench.” Tapping on the peeling wood between their thighs, “Where she reads and watches me play.”

_I know. That’s why I’m here. Because you kept looking over, expecting to see your mother. I figured… the next best thing._

“Johnny!!!” They both look up to see a woman approaching, shaking her head at the boy in frantic relief. “I’ve been looking all over! I _told _you to stay by the swings! Your father is waiting!”

_The next NEXT best thing, maybe._

Johnny jumps down, dusting his shorts. “Sorry, aunt Celia.”

“Hurry up. What kinda big brother is late to meet his new baby sister?” she admonishes teasingly, carding the dark wisp of his hair in a futile attempt to get it to settle. 

As if on cue - and producing the same result - he runs a hand through his.

“Bye,” Johnny mouths, looking over his shoulder. 

_Can you stay?_

_You could go to school._

_Learn to do something else._

His phone rings.

“Quinn,” he rasps, eyes glued to the dwindling form of a six-year-old whisked away from the playground.

“We leave in two hours.”

The world scrambles into a blur. “I’ll see you then.”


End file.
